When We Die

Questions and Answers for where to begin on the Darker Spiritual Paths.

Moderator: Akelta

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User1265455
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Patron Deities: Paimon, Asmoday, Leviathan, Azazel, Amducius
Your favourite Demon?: Paimon
Number of Demon Familiars: 12
Location: Southeastern Missouri
Has thanked: 156 times
Been thanked: 301 times

This is a very serious subject, and it's a topic that people have been debating since debate existed. While I really would love for those of you with experiences of death to reply to this and share your own stories, your own perspectives, I want everyone to know upfront that this is possibly going to involve triggering material, including for some, self-harm. If you write such an experience, please put your trigger warning at the top for the safety of our members. Secondly, no matter what your opinions or thoughts on death, and the various ways people come to death, I expect everyone who adds to this thread to be respectful and kind to those who came before you. There will be no judging of others' experiences or choices on this thread. NONE. This is a heavy topic, but for people to be able to be honest about their experiences, we HAVE to make this thread a safe space.

I am not putting this in a safe space, but I'm asking all of you to honor it like it is one, for an important reason. Everyone who comes to the LHP from a religious background has questions about death. What happens if we choose this path and we die? Do we go to hell? IS there a hell for the soul? These are important and terrifying questions that EVERY beginner has, so here we are, in this section of the forum that is not made for such weighty topics, because this is the place where it is most necessary that the discussion occurs.

I say again, keep this respectful. If you cannot accept the experience someone has had, for whatever reason, unless you can post with compassion it's best you say nothing, and move on. Pay attention to the trigger warnings, and avoid things that you are not able to handle.

And now to the meat of this discussion.
"She’s all the unsung heroes who... never quit." ― R. A. Heinlein, Stranger in a Strange Land
“There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” ― William Shakespeare, Hamlet
“Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats.”
― H.L. Mencken, Prejudices: First Series
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User1265455
Posts: 1045
Joined: Mon Dec 24, 2012 1:28 pm
Patron Deities: Paimon, Asmoday, Leviathan, Azazel, Amducius
Your favourite Demon?: Paimon
Number of Demon Familiars: 12
Location: Southeastern Missouri
Has thanked: 156 times
Been thanked: 301 times

When I was seven years old, I was hit by a drunk driver, and I died. Seconds before, a friend of mine and I had been arguing, and she ran across our neighborhood street, and I ran after her. She made it, and I didn't.

What happened next was the most impactful experience of my young life. I'm autistic, and back then, unless you were "retarded," there wasn't a diagnosis for you - only the most severe cases were accepted as fitting the diagnosis. I was intelligent, articulate, and could look people in the eyes. Therefore, I was not autistic... I was just weird. Being weird and foreign in primary school is a dangerous experience. Not only was I constantly overstimulated in a lot of ways, but I was also bullied. Most of my childhood was one of pain, fear, anger, frustration, and grief.

When I died, all of that was lifted.

Where I went was dark. I went to a place that was just black everywhere. There was nothing. No one. There was no pain, no fear, no hate... it was just such a relief to be free of everything... but there was also no love, no hope, no dreams.

However, I also knew while I was there that that place isn't permanent. It's... where you go to heal before you go elsewhere. However, it was so restful and I missed it for a VERY long time. It wasn't until I died again that I stopped missing it. It was very nice... but you have to remember this. Yes, it's immediate relief from all the "bad"... but there's also no "good" in it either.

There's no love, hope, dreams, joy.

There is NOTHING.

It's a place to wait. A place of relief and healing...

But if you stay there, eventually, you will be nothing as well. You will eventually disappear. There are some, I'm sure, who have chosen this, but ultimately, you're not meant to stay there.

My dad resuscitated me. The whole neighborhood was there. All the adults in a big circle around me. It was overwhelmingly bright, like being born again. Everything was overwhelming. They took me in an ambulance, without any of my family. My mum met us at the hospital. They stuck me in a dark room with red lights, and they kept touching me, turning me. Everything hurt. Mum said those were Xrays. I just remember how much everything hurt, and how I kept crying to make them stop and they didn't listen.

Mum said later they didn't know that they were hurting me.

And then I woke up again in a bed in the hospital. It was right before Easter weekend. Some of dad's friends visited, and they gave me a stuffed bunny. I threw up strawberry jello on it, so I named it Strawberry Easteregg.

I was on crutches for a while. It was hard to go to the bathroom at night because of the crutches. I think I was on them for two weeks.

This was my first experience with death.
"She’s all the unsung heroes who... never quit." ― R. A. Heinlein, Stranger in a Strange Land
“There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” ― William Shakespeare, Hamlet
“Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats.”
― H.L. Mencken, Prejudices: First Series
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User1265455
Posts: 1045
Joined: Mon Dec 24, 2012 1:28 pm
Patron Deities: Paimon, Asmoday, Leviathan, Azazel, Amducius
Your favourite Demon?: Paimon
Number of Demon Familiars: 12
Location: Southeastern Missouri
Has thanked: 156 times
Been thanked: 301 times

Now, over the years, I've traveled a lot through the multiverse. I've found hells. They do exist. The ones I found didn't have demons, though, unless you count our own personal demons.

I should note that during these travels, I was not Christian, but neither was I LHP. At the time, I was a witch. That's important for you to know - that I was where you might be right now when I had these particular two experiences.

In the first one I visited, this old lady was drowning, over and over, in a public enclosed pool. I rescued her, and she started screaming at me about what a horrible person I was, how I was going to hell, how I was the devil's child... and then she was right back in the water drowning again (no, I didn't push her). I was told, "You cannot save a person, only they can save themselves."

Another hell I went to, during the day, it was a beautiful day. Picnic weather. Everyone would be outside, enjoying the day. The field of grass was surrounded by woods, and the woods were scary. There was a tower in the center of the field where everyone was having such a lovely day.

When the sun started to set, everyone HAD to get into the tower. The moment the sun set, there was a flash freeze, and anything still outside would be destroyed. Inside the tower, people had to learn to stick together. To accept anyone there, no matter what, because their survival depended on it.

But during the day, they would separate into their little groups, little cliques, and have their picnics.

They will be there until they start inviting those others onto their blankets.

Think of those two hells.

Think of those people who were suffering and didn't know they were suffering, because there was something they needed to learn, and they would suffer until they learned it.

That lady who had to drown and be rescued over and over?

She had an issue with being grateful. She would only be grateful towards people she saw as acceptable. But any help is good, really. Until she learned to accept help from anyone, learned to be grateful to anyone, no matter how different, she would drown.

And the people in the towers? Until they invite the "other" to their blankets, they will picnic in the sun, and freeze at night without each other.
They got picnics in the sun, because they weren't as virulently hateful to the "other" as the lady... but their apathetic distancing was the problem.
For some people, death is a lesson that you didn't learn in life. And you WILL learn it, or you will stay.

For others, death is different. Not a lesson to be learned.

Live your best life, learn as much as you can, be kind, be compassionate, but don't be a victim.

And then when you move on, keep doing that.

I think those two hells were a reminder... we are all in this together, this thing called life. And we are reliant on each other. No matter how different we are, we need each other. It's important to not forget that. To not wall yourself off with rules that destroy.

But also... You cannot save anyone from themselves. You cannot change anyone. You cannot HELP anyone. So you have to know the rules about needing each other, accepting each other... but also be aware that others refuse to play by those rules, others refuse to be kind, to be compassionate, to be accepting... and you are allowed to set boundaries and say, "Those people are people I need, but I don't have to allow them to hurt me."

These experiences have led me to the understanding that death is absolutely not the end. I don't know what will happen to any of you. I don't even really know what will happen to me. But I know that energy can neither be created nor destroyed, and that consciousness is energy.

So I think of it like this... this suit I'm wearing will give out, and it will go into the earth to make more earth. But for me? I will go somewhere else.

I think death is just us moving into another dimension. One that sometimes crosses with this one, which is how we end up with the weirdnesses of hauntings and the like, but mostly is separate.
"She’s all the unsung heroes who... never quit." ― R. A. Heinlein, Stranger in a Strange Land
“There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” ― William Shakespeare, Hamlet
“Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats.”
― H.L. Mencken, Prejudices: First Series
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User1265455
Posts: 1045
Joined: Mon Dec 24, 2012 1:28 pm
Patron Deities: Paimon, Asmoday, Leviathan, Azazel, Amducius
Your favourite Demon?: Paimon
Number of Demon Familiars: 12
Location: Southeastern Missouri
Has thanked: 156 times
Been thanked: 301 times

My mother's house, the one she lives in right now, was pretty haunted for a long time. The house has existed in various forms since before the civil war. During the civil war, it was used as both a hospital and a base for some southern general. I think Grant but I don't remember right now, and it doesn't really matter much. Suffice it to say there was an army camped out on the front lawn for much of the civil war.

There were three ghosts in the house, and many PIECES on the grounds. I'll get to the pieces in a bit, but let's start with the three in the house. Every night between 2 and 3 am, there would be the sounds of a woman laughing, and a piano playing. It was quite obvious she was having a party - you could even hear the sound of glasses clinking and background laughter. The second ghost was probably the man who owned the house before we did. He was quiet, almost unnoticeable. The third, we don't know anything about, other than the ghost wasn't a nice ghost. He loomed over my son while he slept, scaring the crap out of him on a regular basis, and... mum put in a spiral staircase, and the damned bastard would grab your feet as you went down the stairs, and yank them out from under you. No one ever fell, no one was ever hurt more than a sprained muscle or two because the staircase had handrails and no one ever went down without holding onto those rails, but he was definitely dangerous.

Eventually, it got to the point where he was too scary and too dangerous - other things started happening. So I put my foot down, and when my parents and son were out of town, I went to stay at the house, to look after the animals, and to take care of the ghosts.


TW SUICIDE

My first experience taking care of ghosts happened when I was 17. Dad joined the airforce, and we moved to Delaware in the middle of my high school senior year. I had no friends, and life was just... rough. Kitty had lost her best friend. He'd committed suicide. She saw me and how lonely I was, and she took me in. Pain can be a pretty powerful unifier. I never asked about her pain, and she never asked about mine... but eventually, she asked me if I'd like to go on a trip with her. I said sure, and we hopped into her car, and off we went. We stopped at a graveyard, and we went to the grave of her friend, and that was the moment I found out about her grief. It was also the moment she healed.

Standing next to that grave, I felt him, and I knew what he was saying. It wasn't a hearing thing, it was... a knowing thing, but it was definitely him speaking... and I did what he asked, and told her what he was saying. She didn't question it - I think she felt him. He told her he was sorry that he'd hurt her, and he told her why he'd done what he'd done. I don't remember anything I said - I wonder, actually, if I wasn't channeling a little, because I don't remember... but I know that we never spoke of him again, and yet, she got better. She found her joy again.

TW OVER

My second experience with the dead actually occurred at a dig site near the Grand Canyon. After I graduated, friends of mine from California came to bring me home. We drove through some amazing places, and I'll remember that trip forever - this land can be stark, and it can be green, but it is never ugly. It was about a week into the trip that we stopped at the Canyon. I got to look over the edge, and the sheer scope was both terrifying and inspiring. After we took in the view, we drove onwards and came to a dig site. I don't think it was pueblo, because it wasn't hewn into the rocks, but set in a bit of a dried-up old forest, scrub pines and the like. They had big circles outlined with stones, and little placards to say what the circles used to be. I remember, very clearly, that they got the Kiva and the Kitchen mixed up. I just KNEW they were wrong. I stepped into what I KNEW was the Kiva, and... I disappeared. Literally - my friends watched me step over the line and vanish. For me, I was in the place as it was. There was a man in full ceremonial dress in front of me, and other men in a circle around me. The man handed me a small stone, purple with grey snowflakes. I remember telling him, "I have nothing to give to you in return." I remember knowing that when someone gives you a gift, you reciprocate. And I remember knowing that I had already given them a gift.

I turned, and left the circle, and came back to our time. I walked across the road, into the woods, and above me, a huge golden oval opened up in the sky, and from my body, spirits of the dead, all those native dead, began streaming, into the gate. From my heart to the gate, hundreds of them. Maybe thousands.

When it was over, suddenly my friends could see me. They were shocked to see me on the other side of the road because I'd just APPEARED there... and they were pretty freaked out because they knew it was me, but I didn't look like me. I looked like I was a native. It took three hours for me to go back to normal and look like myself.

My third experience with the dead was when a wandering soul attached herself to me. It was... uncomfortable. She tried to possess me. I ended up opening a gate, the first time I'd done it deliberately, on my own... and ripping her out of me, off of me, and THROWING her through. Because I didn't know what I was doing, I opened the gate to the place I went when I first died. I don't know if she ever made it out. I hope she did.

And now we come to my mother's house. That time, I actually called someone who I knew worked with the dead, and asked her how to deal with the situation. After some talk, I opened a gate, a different gate. And from that gate, I called a tornado. I took that energetic tornado, and I used it like a vacuum cleaner, moving it line by line, inch by inch, across the property, until the land was clear of shreads of ghosts. And then I moved into the house... that was when I found the third ghost - I only knew about the bad one and the woman, but sure enough, there were three small orbs of spirit in that house. I sucked them all into the tornado, and the tornado sucked them into the gate to the other side.

Yes, it was done without their agreement.

Here's the thing. Ghosts... there are several types. The types that get stuck here because they were unfortunate to get caught in a crossing between our place and theirs... there are memory imprints, where the energy and emotions embed themselves into the land and the buildings... and then there are the dead who were so afraid of dying that they forced pieces of themselves to stay.

You have three bodies. Your physical body, your etheric body double, and your spirit. Ghosts are the etheric body double. The reason we bury our dead, traditionally, AFTER three days and not before, is because after the first death, the death of the body, the spirit must die again, must shed the etheric body double, the ego. They linger, they get to say their goodbyes, but also relive their lives, over those three days. It's hard for some of them, and sometimes, so hard and so frightening, that they cling to their double, and instead of all of them crossing, only a piece of their spirit crosses, but parts of their spirit get stuck here.

Because the etheric body double is fragile, and slowly dissolving, ghosts that are created this way slowly lose their sense of self. They lose their identity. These are the ones who say, "I'll cross if you resolve this issue." Some of them do cross, but some of them no longer remember why they stayed, so they make up reason after reason, and they tend to torment the people who can hear and see them. More than that, to retain even a fraction of who they were in life, they have to have a source of energy. Ghosts who last long enough begin to attack and feed on other dead, stealing those energies so that they can retain their own cohesiveness.

Eventually, a ghost eats enough that it goes dark and bad. It becomes a shadow person. It becomes malevolent. Other ghosts aren't enough... now it begins to feed on humans. It inspires fear because that energy is easiest to create and to feed on.

And that was what was bothering my son... and this is why I gave none of the dead on my mother's land a choice... not even the fragments of the dead on the front lawn, which the man hurting us had clearly already devoured.

Sometimes, you can't reason with them, and you can't let them choose, because they're no longer rational, they're no longer able. You have to choose for them. I chose in favor of the living because this is our place, not theirs... there are places they are supposed to be, places where only parts of them are, which means that those parts may be stuck there, as much as they are also stuck here. I don't know for sure, but to me, it's always been a logical thought... if part of you is stuck here, then none of you can move on. So when I can, I give a choice, but I always choose the living over the dead, because that's ultimately what's best for both.

And now the last experience I've had with the dead. TW - Blood

At my last apartment complex, a neighbor came to me with a problem. Someone was in her apartment. They were standing over her in her bed at night. They were opening cabinets. They were throwing objects. She came to me because she knew I was a witch, and she was hoping I could help.

The man who lived in her apartment before her had diabetes, and one of his feet had gotten badly infected. A sore opened up, and because he couldn't feel his feet, he bled out that night and died. The blood soaked through the carpet, and into the wood and concrete - it took them months to clean the apartment up enough to be able to rent it out again.

The thing about blood is that it can act as an anchor. For this man, it acted as a ball and chain. He literally COULDN'T cross, because the blood held him there. He was understandably unhappy about it. For him, we talked. I talked to him for as long as he needed, and then when it was time, I opened the gates for him, and helped him cross, while simultaneously breaking his link to his blood, so that he would be free. Breaking a blood link is... difficult and time-consuming, and painful. I don't recommend it for anyone who isn't sufficiently advanced in their necromantic abilities - it's not a safe experience. However, he was finally able to leave, and not come back. TW OVER
"She’s all the unsung heroes who... never quit." ― R. A. Heinlein, Stranger in a Strange Land
“There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” ― William Shakespeare, Hamlet
“Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats.”
― H.L. Mencken, Prejudices: First Series
User avatar
User1265455
Posts: 1045
Joined: Mon Dec 24, 2012 1:28 pm
Patron Deities: Paimon, Asmoday, Leviathan, Azazel, Amducius
Your favourite Demon?: Paimon
Number of Demon Familiars: 12
Location: Southeastern Missouri
Has thanked: 156 times
Been thanked: 301 times

My last experience with death was my spiritual death. I was attacked, over and over, with death spells. There were five people involved in these attacks. While I'll never truly understand what motivated them completely, the experiences are ultimately what led me to the LHP, to my Patron, to my current path, and to my current joy... so whatever they thought they were going to accomplish by their acts, I survived, and I have thrived. I say this to start because what I'm about to share is pretty fucking traumatic and you need a little hope to get you through it. I wish I'd had that hope when I lived it.

It started with multiple dreams of attacks. Some of them, I simply saw the weave of the spell, and when I woke up, I was easily able to unravel it. However, the attacks got more and more violent. At one point, an actual goddess came to warn me, and protect me. Unfortunately, I didn't understand that there was a quid pro quo there, and so that was the last time she has ever helped me. Fair enough.

Then the dying started. What follows are the dreams. What I didn't know then was that in an attempt to save myself, I was actually sending all those death magicks to other aspects of myself. Other lives. We are interdimensional beings, and this is not the only life you are living right now, it's simply the only life you are aware of living right now. There are other yous, in other worlds. Every time I died, I sent that death to another self. Here are those deaths.

TW - GUN VIOLENCE

First Death

This world was yellow. It also had a single global government and a police force that dressed in what looked like all black slick leather and black motorcycle helmets. They carried machine guns, also black, made from some polycarbonate plastic blend. Lightweight, no recoil, a hell of a punch. Reminds me a bit of the M-16 Colt Light Machine Gun.

A guy, friend of mine, and I were part of a resistance to the world government. We got found out. We ran – the Underground Railroad was alive and well. Ended up in South America, living in a Tenement. Did OK, shitty jobs, keeping our heads down, for a few weeks… until somehow, he got caught. He led them straight back to our apartment.

Next thing I know, they’ve gassed us, and we’re up against the wall, arms and legs spread wide, palms and faces against the walls, can’t see what they’re doing behind us. He makes an idiot mistake, and they shoot us both. Everything goes black. I wake up.

Second Death

“I know, May. I wish I could be there to help you pack,” I say into the phone as I hang up another shirt. My hands move automatically, as I remote-view my friend, all the way on the other coast. I watch her tape up another box, worry on her pale face, her hands shaking, her cheeks damp.

“I’m just… so afraid I’ll be next. I never saw this coming… never thought he’d become this person.” Even though she can’t see me, I shrug… I always knew he was a psychopath. It was only a matter of time before he started killing people… but that’s not something you tell your best friend on their wedding day, or any other day for that matter, about their husband. Again, I keep my mouth shut and let her get it off her chest. “He killed again last night. The cops were here this morning to tell me… he’s moving so fast they can’t track him anymore.”

That makes me shiver a little… but I comfort myself with the knowledge that they always slip in the end. “I’m sorry your husband is a serial killer, May. I really am. Maybe tonight, nothing will happen. You’re seeing the lawyer this afternoon… it’ll be over soon.” The police have been hushing things up, though – I know he doesn’t just want to hurt another girl. I know that he wants to find where the cops are hiding May… and I know he wants everyone to know what he can do… he loves it when he can break your head wide open and roll in your psychological entrails… he’s THAT kind of predator… the social mind of their town is just another toy for him to break.

I hear someone shouting in the background for another box through the phone, and asking whether or not May wants her winter shirts packed. “Is that Bessie?”

“Oh, yeah, thanks so much for sending her… she’s been taking really good care of me,” she replies.

Again I shrug… I don’t know why I do that… shrug when on the phone… just because I can see what’s going on around you when we’re talking on the phone doesn’t mean you can see me, too… “No problem. There’s no one I trust more.” Bessie is exactly who I want to be when I grow up. She’s wild, and she says what she wants, she always tells you what she thinks. She’s not afraid of anything. She’s strong and stubborn, and if anyone can keep May going through this other than me, it’s Bessie.

I hear a guy talking in the bedroom – it’s a voice I don’t recognize. “You’re in good hands there, love. Listen… I’ve got to go. There’s someone in the house. I’ll talk to you later. I love you.” We hang up.

I finish folding and hanging up the last of the laundry, and step out of the closet. Scott is lying on the bed, on the covers. All the curtains are open. There’s a man I don’t recognize there – a cop – he’s in a shorts and short-sleeves uniform of grey cloth, and he has a badge, and a .22 rifle. My awareness spreads, as I watch him say something to Scott, and he throws some change on the bed. Scott knows all the cops, and they trade laughs. He’s searched our apartment. There are other cops searching other apartments. The security doors into the building are wide open, so the cops won’t have to be buzzed in every time they go out for something – and everybody’s front doors are open, too.

I don’t know what they’re looking for… and… there’s a strange man in my house with a gun.

For a moment, I’m silent, stunned… I watch the cop walk out of the bedroom, around the corner, and out my wide-open front door… and I’d have been fine if I’d have just kept my mouth shut. But… I couldn’t. It was a gun. He brought a GUN into MY HOUSE.

I lost my freaking mind.

“Who are you, and why are you in my house? Why did you bring a gun into my house? WHO ARE YOU AND WHY DID YOU BRING A GUN INTO MY HOUSE? TAKE YOUR GUN AND GET THE HELL OUT OF MY HOUSE!!!” I scream at his retreating back…

Scott starts to sit up, he reaches towards me, fright on his face, words of hesitation in his mouth…

But it’s too late.

The cop pops back around the corner… levels the .22 rifle at me… Pulls the trigger…

There’s a loud bang.

Something hits my throat.

The world

Goes

Black…

And then I’m wide awake… and there’s a lump in my throat.

Third Death

Thousands of us are on a journey. There’s snow everywhere, and we’re walking the tracks. We have as much as we can carry with us. We’ve been walking for months, hoping the leaders in front know where we’re going, because we don’t.

Behind me is a cart with a lion and a silver wolf in it.

Some bad guys are disturbing the back of the train of people – so the person who’s bringing the wolf and the lion lets them out the back of the cart to hunt the bad guys. We hear two shots. We know that the lion and the wolf are dead and that they failed to protect us.

We get to the next junction stop, and I’m ordered to go back and confirm that we have traitors in our group, by walking back down the tracks to see the bodies of the lion and the wolf. I really don’t want to, but someone has to, so I go backward even though I know it’s not right… I get lost and somehow get on the wrong set of tracks, even though I never left the original set we’d been walking on.

However, I do end up managing to see the bodies of the lion and the wolf.

I begin to run back towards the junction, bad guys chasing me. I get to the end of the wrong tracks, and leap the fence, plowing through the deep snow back onto the right tracks. There are people there to back me up.

I get back to the junction and report to the people in charge exactly what I’d seen. We move on.

Another day on the tracks and we pass through a town. I’m not sure if it’s an old abandoned town, or if the company has just built it for habitation, but there are all kinds of stores, and I’m totally not interested in any of them. I just want to get where I’m going and the stores all seem just a little ridiculous to me.

We get to another junction stop, and as I’m going to the end of the junction building to wait near the tracks for the next day, I’m walking with a woman who wants to take me shopping. I’m like, “What for?” She says I need more money, but I don’t understand why. I don’t need money… I need to get where I’m going. Money just seems like a distraction, a waste of time.

I ignore her silliness and go wait by the gates. A big guy comes by, and he tells us all to move out of the hallway. He’s… there’s something about him that makes me nervous. I move out of his way. He smells… chemical, but sweet? As I’m leaving the hallway, my ex, Scott (the heroin addict) tells me… “When you pass him again, smell him. He smells like Meth… don’t listen to him. Run.”

As I pass the guy, I do smell him again… and Scott was right, he smells like Meth. I turn in shock, and I say, “You smell like Meth! I didn’t know you were doing Meth! WHY? How long!?” He grins, and says, “Fuck yeah I’m on Meth. I’ve been on it for months. It feels GREAT!” And then he pulls out two large silver guns.

Both of the barrels are at LEAST a foot long, the guns are that HUGE… and I turn and start to run, saying, “Nonononono,” and he laughs and says, “Fuck YES.” And then he shoots me, and it hits me in my lower left side and exits my upper right side of my body, but I can feel the impact rippling through my entire body like a rock thrown in a bucket of water making ripples in the liquid, only I’m the liquid… Everything goes dark…Then I’m awake.

WHY DOES IT ALWAYS HAVE TO BE FREAKING GUNS!?!?!

NOTES:

The lion was gold and the wolf was silver, so I would assume it had something to do with solar and lunar stuff or male and female aspects… but I dunno. I wasn’t cold. The snow was EVERYWHERE, the world was white, except for the black of the tracks, and the dark of the empty trees. Everyone was wearing dull colors. The only reason I noticed that person’s animals at all was because they were so shiny among all the dull. Lots of other people had dogs and goats etc with them… but those animals were dull, too.

The entire dream, except for the end, just felt like a very long, arduous trial that I was mostly bored through and tired. I just wanted it over… but… um… not completely like that. And the dream felt really… unfinished. Like… OK, I’m going somewhere, it’s a pain in the ass to get there, and I have no actual idea where I’m going, I’m not leading, I’m following, and I have no idea who I’m following, but they keep ordering me to do shit that puts me in danger and honestly is another pointless pain in the ass and I just want this over.

Hubby came home early after this one. Apparently at 9:30 this morning, he had a sudden, very sharp, actually excruciating pain in his side… exactly where I got shot.

He didn’t know why until I told him about the dream.

When he got home, I described what we’d been shot with. He had me look up a few things. When I had a panic attack, we knew we’d found the right gun.

This morning, I was shot with a 44 Automag Desert Eagle in my sleep.

I do not recommend this activity at ALL.

I’m going back to bed. In my husband’s arms. And I’m going to stare at the walls for a while.

Last Death

Amea
This was a warmer world than ours. South America was still a Spanish colony.

I was hired as a lady’s companion for Amea by her husband. I remember, she was newlywed, and she was beautiful – full of light, vivacious, sparks. You couldn’t help but love her.

No one could… but him.

There was something about Amea that made him want to break her… and there was a streak of… methodical cruelty in him that showed me from the beginning, he was a pro – he’d done this before.

I’ve always said that beatings aren’t nearly so bad as psychological warfare, and I’ve always been right. This was no different. The bruises, she could cover, and they would heal… but the things he did to her head were what began to kill the woman I grew to love.

One morning I came into her bedroom to help her plan her day, and I saw bruises on her neck and stomach. They were worse than I’d ever seen before. She looked like a broken, defeated flower, wilting in the heat. We locked eyes, and without a single word spoken we knew we were running.

A week later, we were outside at a bistro in town, a little cantina. She was drinking strong coffee, black and rich. I was shooting tequila. She didn’t take her cardigan off. Casually, she looked at me and said, “He’s going to Rio tonight. He’ll be gone for a week this time.” I nodded. We said nothing more and listened to the birds and the vendors hawking their wares in the market.

That night, I helped her pack a bag – the size of a child’s backpack, with a few essentials. We left with nothing but the clothes we wore. We climbed out her window… she nearly slipped and fell. I clutched her hand until she got her feet under her again…

A year later, we had new names, we were a new class, we had new jobs, new careers. Her light was back. Oh, I loved her. She had the most beautiful eyes, her hair was like silk, and her skin was soft as rabbit fur. She had a laugh that turned heads, and she SHINED. We were in North America. She came home from her work to tell me, she’d finally done it – she’d gotten the promotion. We laughed, we planned a party. It felt like, finally, everything was OK – he hadn’t found us, and we were finally making it. We were free. It was our happily ever after.

They were doing maintenance on the elevator shaft that day. I heard a knock at the door and went to answer. I didn’t look through the peep-hole, I just opened the door. The first thing I saw was the short-barrelled shotgun pointed at my face, barrel as wide as a roll of quarters. The second thing I saw was him. He was wearing maintenance coveralls, and on his back was a hiking insulated water bag.

He backed me into the apartment, while she shrank into a corner, trying not to be seen, frozen in terror. I didn’t look at her – I was so afraid, if I looked at her, he would, too… he’d see she was there, and he’d kill her.

He forced me into the next room and had me open the closet door that backed up onto the elevator shaft for the building. He explained that in the bag on his back was a bomb, and he was going to force me to place that bomb onto the wall backing onto the elevator shaft, and if I didn’t, he was going to shoot her, and then me. My beautiful Amea.

He told me that after I had placed the bomb, he was going to shoot me… and then he was going to beat her with the gun, and leave… and then he was going to blow up the building.

I looked at that gun, I looked at that man. I thought of my beautiful Amea… and I began to talk. I told him of the seven years we had been in love, she and I. I told him about her thoughts and hopes and dreams. I told him where my hands had been. I talked about her birthmarks and her freckles. I told him about the noises she made in the soft dark. I knew… if I could say the right things, he would lose control. He would shoot me, and the neighbors would hear him, and they would come running, and she might live. Such a very large barrel was sure to make a very loud sound – one that no one could ignore, could they? They might live… SHE might live… if I could just… make him lose control… make him shoot me.

I told him the most personal, intimate, beautiful things I could. I tormented him with our loving, taunted him to pull the trigger, tried to fill his head with hate for what we’d had without him, what I had taken from him. The whole time, I stared into his hate-filled eyes, but in my mind, I only saw her. She was the only face that mattered. I told him how I had loved her… and how he had failed. I never looked away, never looked at the last face I really wanted to see – I didn’t want him to take his eyes off me, I didn’t want him to look at her – I couldn’t risk it. So I stared into those eyes and told him about what love really was.

The last thing I saw was his face, twisted up in rage, insane jealousy, purple with hate – the last thing I knew was I had won.

I went to the white place after the darkness happened. In the white place were my ancestors – the ancestors of the woman I had been in the dream. They told me I did the right thing, that I’d done well – they welcomed me as I joined them.

I woke up hysterical.

I don’t know if she lived. My precious Amea. I don’t know if she’s OK… and I can’t stop thinking about her.



I've honestly never gotten over Amea. I still worry and wonder. I still love her with a passion that makes my skin burn in grief. I still feel my terror for her whenever I think of her name.
"She’s all the unsung heroes who... never quit." ― R. A. Heinlein, Stranger in a Strange Land
“There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” ― William Shakespeare, Hamlet
“Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats.”
― H.L. Mencken, Prejudices: First Series
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Patron Deities: Paimon, Asmoday, Leviathan, Azazel, Amducius
Your favourite Demon?: Paimon
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Location: Southeastern Missouri
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There was a final death - I'd forgotten about it until now, because after all of this, I ended up in a catatonic state which lasted for two years, while my spirit wandered what I call the Grey Lands. This death was clearly closer to our realm. In this dream, I was obese. I had some kind of condition, I don't know what, which caused it. I distinctly remember knowing it was a medical issue and not my diet, my exercising, or anything like that.

I had a heart attack because of the disease. I remember being put in an ambulance. I remember the sound of the heart monitor. I remember the sound of it stopping.

And then I remember no more.



I woke up from that one, and that was the last time I woke up for a long time.

I clearly remember being in two places at once. I remember my body. I moved my body, fed my body when people forced me to... but mostly, I literally sat on the couch for two years and did nothing but stare at the walls. I remember that it was a lot like being at the bottom of a very deep, very dark well... that people would ask me questions or say things to me, and it took forever to even realize they'd spoken. Bird says that sometimes I'd answer him hours after he spoke to me. A lot of questions I didn't even bother replying to, because to me they seemed rhetorical, obvious, and there was no point in spending what precious energy I had on answering.

During that time, I wandered. I remember endless fields in shadows. Ghosts hunting other ghosts. Woods in the distance. I called this place the grey lands. It was cold. So cold. And there were things that used to be the dead, hunting other dead, devouring them, just so they could stay a little longer.I was spiritually dead. Someone came and got me from there because if I stayed, I would be eaten and then I'd be really dead. I remember being buried there, and yet still wandering.

It took me a very long time to find my way back here, even after whoever it was came and got me.

Eventually, a friend who was a necromancer was able to find my spirit and call it back to my body. That was... messy. It hurt so much, to be yanked out of the deadlands and shoved back into my body. I woke writhing, screaming in pain on the floor, and then I barely made it to the bathroom where I vomited over, and over, and over. I still wasn't alive, though. I was still very dead, but now I was stuck in my body.

I went completely numb. It became much harder to take care of myself. I almost fell into catatonia again.

However, with time, I made it through.

It's been... I think seven years now? Since I came back from my spiritual death.

Akelta sent me my first demon, and that was the pivotal moment, the beginning of me learning to live again. It was hard. I have pretty severe anxiety and ptsd. Every companion that she has sent has helped me move another step forward in my recovery.

I think, quite honestly, that spiritual death is a lot worse than physical death. There were times when I wished my body would just stop, and I could be free, all this would end.

My soul had other ideas, and I'm glad it did.




Oh, one last thing before I end my own experiences and open the floor for all of you to share your own.

I used to have IBS. (IBS is usually related to anxiety/panic attacks, believe it or not) I was on a medication that caused my blood sugar to plummet within a couple of hours of taking it, and this caused me to have panic attacks. Pretty severe ones. Like, you could see my heart beating so hard my shirt would move. Which would cause my IBS to act up. I didn't know I had IBS, so the feeling of snakes writhing in my gut was... scary as fuck, honestly.

One night, I had an attack so bad, I honestly, truly thought, "This is it. I have an ulcer in my stomach. It's perforated. I'm bleeding out internally. I probably have about five minutes to say goodbye." I woke Bird up, to tell him I love him. And then I felt it.

Did you know that every cell in your body is conscious? I didn't. It's maybe not intelligent consciousness. Not consciousness as we think of it... but it IS a type. And at that moment, every cell in my body started screaming and I could hear them, could feel them... and the thing they were screaming? THEY WANTED TO LIVE.

I am a community.




My mother and I had a conversation about consciousness yesterday. I see it this way. My cells are conscious, and that's the micro world. I am conscious, and I stand between. And then, the land, the trees, the stones, the stars, everything else in the macro verse, they're all conscious, too. Some are conscious in a hive-like state, and some are conscious individuals, but...

These three layers of consciousness are all connected. The micro that I contain, and the macro that contains me.

If a cell doesn't want to die, then a star doesn't want to die either.

And yet, we do. Except, as you have seen, we don't. Not really. We're just... moving to a new place, shedding our suits and taking on new ones.




Is there a hell? Most definitely. There are a lot of hells. This might be one of them, depending on your philosophy and perceptions. Will you end up there? I guess that depends entirely on you. But it won't be because you chose demons and devils over the other choices.
"She’s all the unsung heroes who... never quit." ― R. A. Heinlein, Stranger in a Strange Land
“There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” ― William Shakespeare, Hamlet
“Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats.”
― H.L. Mencken, Prejudices: First Series
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Patron Deities: Paimon, Asmoday, Leviathan, Azazel, Amducius
Your favourite Demon?: Paimon
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Location: Southeastern Missouri
Has thanked: 156 times
Been thanked: 301 times

One last thing. Completely forgot.

HOW we die is every bit as important as what comes next. So... this is the story of a friend of mine, Daniel Webber, who died of cancer, and whose death I did my best, with help, to make a good death. There are good deaths.



The Story of Daniel Webber
I met Danny in 2005. Danny, like my ex Scott, was a heroin junkie, a pill head. He wasn’t a bad guy, he was just a guy who’d made some truly APPALLING choices. Of course, I met him through Scott, who knew every junkie in the county.

Danny came to me because his girlfriend was having some problems, and he’d heard that I did readings, so he came to ask me to do a reading for the girl. She sat down in front of me, and I laid out the cards, took one look at them, and looked up at her in shock, and said, “My girl, you’ve been raped, and you’ve never told anyone, you’ve never gotten help with it, and it’s killing you. You need therapy last year.” I wasn’t as tactful back then as I am now. She burst into tears, and ran away… naturally. When Danny asked me why, I told him it was none of his business, and that if SHE wanted him to know, she’d tell him herself.

Apparently she did. She got help. She got better.

Danny became a friend of ours. He was living next door by the end of that summer, and he and my ex used to sit outside in the evenings on the porch, smoking, drinking a little, playing some music, and talking. Danny was the kind of guy who always looked after people. He took care of the guy who’d hurt his friend – not in a violent way as far as I know, but you never EVER hurt someone Danny cared about. He wasn’t dangerous. He was just that loyal. Like a lot of heroin junkies, he’d do just about anything for you on a good day. Of course, he’d also steal your meds if he thought he could pop them or sell them to get dope with. He never lied about it, though. When my own meds went missing (Scott knew a LOT of junkies, and not all of them were the good kind), he actually spent the next week hunting down the person who’d stolen them. By that time, the pills were long gone, but that person never stole from us again… and in the hunt, Danny’d managed to find someone who had some spares. I’m on Medicaid – even with a police report to back up the fact that my meds had been stolen, I couldn’t get another prescription filled until the month was up… Danny saved my life – and I don’t mean that figuratively.

Eventually, however, like all junkies, his luck ran out. He got caught carrying, and off to prison, he went. Yes, prison, not jail… it was not his first, or even his third, offense. Two months before he ended up in prison, he came to me to talk about a personal matter… he’d been peeing blood for two years. I know enough, having a doctor for a father and a nurse for a mother, to know that peeing blood for that long is a BAAAAAD sign. I told him he needed to go see someone, and that it was important.

Danny didn’t have health insurance. He didn’t go see a doctor until he was in prison. When he saw the doctor, they told him he had stage 4 bladder cancer, and that he had less than a year to live.

While he was in prison on a two-year sentence, he called us, and we called his mother, and they talked on our line. It didn’t cost us anything… I don’t remember why, but I do remember that his mother couldn’t receive his calls, but could receive ours, so that’s how we did it. We helped her deal with the lawyers and the doctors and helped her get her son out of prison so he could die at home. Before they sent him home, they took his bladder and a good section of his intestines, in an attempt to give him some time… so when he came home I had to explain all about the colostomy bag. He was very embarrassed but grateful.

We talked to him about what he wanted for his funeral because his mother was in complete denial and wouldn’t talk to him about it at all. He told Scott and me that he wanted the song “See You On The Other Side” played at the funeral. He wanted to go out surrounded by the people that loved him, friends and family, and he wanted to go out smoking pot, in the middle of a party.

Slowly, he got worse. The drugs that gave him cancer he now NEEDED, because he was in so much pain… and eventually, he was on such high doses that he was just a zombie. The Danny we’d known was a wrecked, drooling shell. He didn’t recognize anyone anymore. He lay in the bed, because he couldn’t walk anymore, and pooped into his bag, and peed into his catheter, and dreamed Morphine dreams. They fed him through a tube. His hands shook. They gave him his medication rectally because he could no longer swallow. The person I’d known that was so full of life, and love, and really, REALLY lived, was gone.

Danny developed a secondary infection – he got Pneumonia. The antibiotics couldn’t be given rectally, they had to be given orally. They melted under his tongue. Fortunately for Danny, the antibiotics did nothing… pneumonia got him within a week. We came by on Monday, and he was… there. We came by on Friday, and he was grey. We knew he was going to die that day.

We tried to talk to his mother, but she still clung to the belief that her son was going to get better, and we knew she couldn’t handle anything, so we took her little black book, and we began to call every number in there. We called her family, we called her friends. We called his friends too. Everyone came. Everyone sat there that day. We drank, and we took a teaspoon and slipped some of Danny’s favorite (Crown Royal) under his tongue. Someone pulled out some pot, and the friends who smoked took turns giving him “shotguns.” Someone even shared a final cigarette. And we took a CD we’d burned, of his favorite songs, and played it for him. The fourth song on the disk was “See You On The Other Side.”

As the chorus started, we saw his eyes begin to close. We called his mother into the room, to say goodbye. He smiled, and he went out, listening to the song he wanted to be played at his funeral, being kissed by his mother, in the middle of a party with all his friends and family, drunk and high as a kite… As only Danny should.

Later, we put cans out at every gas station and a notice in the newspaper, requesting donations so she could bury him. Their pastor donated some funds, so did everyone who came to see him off.

Danny got his burial. His mother sends me a Christmas Card every year. It was 2007 when Danny died. Happy Death, Danny. May all of us be as lucky in life, love, and death as you were. And thank you, for letting me do the most important thing in your life and mine.
"She’s all the unsung heroes who... never quit." ― R. A. Heinlein, Stranger in a Strange Land
“There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” ― William Shakespeare, Hamlet
“Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats.”
― H.L. Mencken, Prejudices: First Series
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Wow. This was a lot to take in. Might need to re-read it a few times to fully understand it.


For me, I always imagined that what awaits for us is based on who we are. So someone who was cold and abusive, would find a cold and abusive afterlife. Someone who was warm and kind, would find a warm and kind afterlife. In other words, your personality is a magnet that will attract whatever you out out. Though I have no way of knowing if there is any truth to this.


TW Suicide

I can't say I extensively thought about death. I did think about suicide once, as a kid. I didn't want to kill myself, but I wanted to understand why people would kill themselves. I remember going into the kitchen one day, and taking a steak knife out of the drawer. I held the blade above my head, pointed at my chest. At the time I wanted to know how the person would feel in that moment. But given that I was a kid, I wasn't able to understand. I had put the knife back and went back to my room. I think at the time my dad was wither working, or was sleeping since at one point, he worked night shifts. My mom, was probably on the opposite side of the house working on some crafts.

At one point later on I forgot that I wanted to understand, and thought I was going to kill myself. I had sat with my younger cousin at the children's park that was across her house. I had mentioned about the incident to her, and that I decided to live to protect her. To essentially be a human shield ready to give my life to protect her.

I guess I lucked out that it wasn't brought up after we left the park. I couldn't imagine what my family's reaction would be to something like that; and how bad it would hurt them.

TW End


I've had a few dreams about death though I don't know if they were just dreams, or had some significance to them. But I figure it couldn't hurt to share them.

TW Torture


Dream 1

This one I had as a kid. I think it was before me trying to understand suicide, but I don't remember. What I do remember, was there was no variety of color, it was orange sepia. Almost like looking at some old photo moving like a video. I was chained up along a endless line of people. Someone who looked like Ghostface walked up to the line. One by one, and with haste, he stabbed each one of us once. I don't know how it feels like to be stabbed, but in the dream it didn't feel sharp. Instead it felt like I got punched in the gut. I looked to my right as he continued to stab everyone in the line.


Dream 2

This next one I had posted before, but I copied and pasted it here for convenience.

I looked around before me at the stone walls lit by torches. It's hard to believe that just moments ago I was among layers of derbies that remained from a ship. Though scattered the bits and pieces of floor acted much like stairs which lead down to this underground. The skeletal captain of the ship; no where to be seen.Even though I left a world of black and green, the earth tone before me was not providing any comfort. Especially when the cold metal bars laying in the walls made their presence known.

As I made my wall down the hall, I soon came across man to my left; caged up like an animal laying on his side with no door in sight. I couldn't tell if his appearance was naturally so, or the result of being covered in dirt. Seeing him, I wasn't sure what was worse seeing the blood and scars on his legs from all the cruel treatment he has endured; or his face. Looking at him I could just tell words could not describe the pain he was in. It looked as if he was crying, but he must have been so dehydrated he couldn't show it if he wanted to.
I proceeded down the hall to a wide room. In the middle a flat wooden device that spun in either direction. Soon after entering, to the left I saw a familiar face pop in from a hole in the wall. The man who I just came across just moments ago. Around his head, was decorated much like what one would do to an animal head. Not long after he appeared the wheel began to spin.

It quickly became apparent to me, that as the wheel spun, the two halves of wall to his left and right were closing in on him. It was slowly crushing his wind pipe and then would decapitate him. I couldn't help but think 'Hasn't he suffered enough?'. I ran to the wheel, determined to get it to spin the other way. After a bit of struggle, it soon spun the other way, freeing the man.

What came after that, made my heart sink even more. Accompanying the wheel, which was slowly spinning non-stop showed an image on the wall, opposite to the man. It showed a group of 6 people, perhaps family, maybe even friends along with a ceiling of spikes slowly dropping down on them. Watching the scene they seemed oblivious by what was about to befall on them. Even if they wouldn't be killed by spikes, I could feel that some horrible disaster would befall on them once the spikes finish their decent.

A voice filled the room.I looked around but the figure was not in sight. It continued to speak telling me I had a choice to make: weight of my selfishness verses the lives of others. In other words, if I choice to help the man whom I know nothing about, innocent people on Earth will suffer. People who had nothing to do with the situation I got myself into. The amount of innocent people, equal to the amount I cared for the man. If he died, his entire existence gone. No memory would be left of him, not for humans, or spirits. A true death.
After the voice finished, the man put his head back in the hole. The wheel spun the other way, once again closing in on him. I then spoke for the first time since being there. My words, carried by horror, and dismay, "No...".

The choice is mine. Time is running out. One side won't live to see tomorrow.

TW End


Talking about death is making me remember a quote from Joseph M. Marshall III :
“Life is a circle. The end of one journey is the beginning of the next.”


I can't help but think about the dreams I type. While the first I was physically dying, a part of me, my spirit would still survive, ready to start a new journey. The man in the second dream however? Gone. As if he never existed at all and would be unable to start a new journey.

I guess what I'm wondering is, would the latter be considered death? Or something else entirely, if such a thing is possible.
Magic is really very simple, all you've got to do is want something and then let yourself have it.
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Heretique
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Patron Deities: Set, Kali ma, guided heavily by Svengali and Lucifer
Your favourite Demon?: Svengali, Lucifer, Paimon, Azazel, Lucifuge Rofocale, Eurynomous, Namaah, Belial, Lord O
Number of Demon Familiars: 6
Location: Australia
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thanks for sharing this nycto i agree with celtic star that it may require a few rereads. So ( this will be a multi part post too) i tend to be drawn a lot to death deities and death energy itself and my journey with death has been an interesting one. While i do not have much experience with ghosts, i do open Ocat's gate each in November when i honour my ancestors and offer food for the wandering dead if they have no one

TW Suicide, anorexia

so when I was in my teens I suffered from depression and anorexia, eventually it came to the point i was willing to attempt suicide, that night I remember the knife poised and ready, demanding some kind of proof from that god that they existed ( having been raised in a christian household and school and with very strong clair abilities didn't help) through the flood of tears i saw a figure in the corner of my room and eventually fell asleep. after that however i felt that some part of me was missing and have felt it ever since. i suppose that was my first closer experience with death

TW end

after that i was drawn to death energy and death deities very heavily i started looking into paganism, stumbled into kemeticism and learned much about how they honored their dead and the version of that afterlife. I had some experiences in the duat and through long conversations with my deities i came to my own conclusions, that people go where they feel they need to go and based upon their beliefs in the end. When i was looking into shamanism I also began to work closely with Hel the Norse goddess, ruler of Nifelheim- goddess of death who takes the sick and those who die of natural causes and cares for them. I visited her realm and saw in some areas giant pits where the dead where suffering and yet there were open doors at each end, Hel explained to me that they tormented themselves because they themselves believed they needed to be punished, what parts of themselves they had not made peace with in life they worked through here- and yet when they realized there was no judgement and no need of punishment they could walk freely out the doors, in the end they torment themselves. That is not all that lies in her realm though, there are green and plentiful fields where the ancestors linger and can connect, she also holds records similar to the akashic records, it is in general a peaceful place. Also when i connceted with Hel at first i felt peace, the first time i had actually felt peace and complete blackness just as nycto describes the healing phase, though i did not linger in that place long. It still colors my perception that death is peace. After my workings with Hel i began a respectful practice of honouring the dead each year.

At some point along my journeys i also connected to Baron Samedhi though very briefly though it brought with it the lesson that sex (orgasm is called little death for a reason) and death are the times we are closest to the gods. and how intertwined life and death actually are. This brought brought to my perception also that dead can be joyful it needn't be sullen or feared and i also looked into and began celebrating in a similar way to dia de los muertos.

When i came to begin working with demons, i connected with Lord Eurynomous almost immediately, i was very drawn to his energy and he was one of my earliest guides in demonic work. I traveled to one of his realms which seemed like a crossing point, where a lot of souls are gathered around a great river and cleansed in a way - he showed me how the bodies are broken down and the soul form freed, how in this place the souls are stripped of what holds them back so they can move on to their designated areas. I also though Lord Eurynomous was connected to Yomi the Japanese underworld, which i still visit occasionally.
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Heretique
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Patron Deities: Set, Kali ma, guided heavily by Svengali and Lucifer
Your favourite Demon?: Svengali, Lucifer, Paimon, Azazel, Lucifuge Rofocale, Eurynomous, Namaah, Belial, Lord O
Number of Demon Familiars: 6
Location: Australia
Has thanked: 177 times
Been thanked: 176 times

Part of what i learned with Set who is my patron is the process of khepering or becoming, which is basically a process of evolution- like a snake shedding its skin to become who we truly are and in a way this is death to though on a smaller scale- as to me death is a transformation. it is something i practice regularly and shapes most of my other practices too. In my process of khepering and on my journeys i have had my astral form die many times and when that happens it reaches a kind of blank slate though i feel much free-er and more expansive and at peace, it is very similar to the energy i felt with Hel. i have also used death this form of dying to get rid of things that i no longer want or need and then like a phoenix rise form the ashes.

TW- trauma and torture
So this past year i was put in a situation with certain eldritch being where i was tortured consistently. it was extremely traumatic for me more so then usual, in my desperation i turned to a strained alliance with a certain crypt death god. i will not go into details but i asked to be killed basically and he did and he did it over and over again, forcing me to pull myself back together using my own inherent death energy to reform myself. through this though i got to know his energy very well- he told me i understand death as peace but death is not all peaceful, whcihc he was intent on showing me. this process took its toll on me and it ended up basically severing my connection to my true form and higher self.

TW end

i dissociated massively afterwards and am still recovering from this with the help of DL's and companions. therefore to answer the question asked by celtic star- yes i do believe there are different kinds of death and yes there is a death you can't come back from where something is completely destroyed and all traces gone and to never have existed in the first place. i would call that annihilation though.

i have in some of my death energy work, worked with the souls of animals from road kill and other such things to help them cross over through offerings and such. and while i have little experience with the physical aspects of death it is still something that i love learning about.

So for my views of death i believe it is transformation and a transitional state, it isn't the end and is i do believe in the end that where souls go is based on their beliefs in life and where they on a deep level feel they need to go. I am just starting out on my journey with ancestral workings right now but it has proven wonderful so far and they have a lot of wisdom to share as well, in some cases in ways that specifically pertain to our lives down here in a way that sometimes gods and other entities and beings don't have, by virtue of them having actually lived.
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